


Task Number One

by lazy_stitch



Series: I Like Me Better When I'm With You [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Being Lost, Character Study, F/M, Feels, It has been too long, Misery Loves Company, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Relationship, Pre-Wanda Maximoff/Vision, References to Depression, i have forgotten how to tag lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 10:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14809595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_stitch/pseuds/lazy_stitch
Summary: Being lost in the world isn't new to Wanda, but it is new to her to not have her brother by her side to help forge their way into the world.  Misery loves company, even if that company isn't quite sure of itself just yet.





	Task Number One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything

There was a heaviness to her soul that dragged and dragged and dragged her down like a lead weight. Some days, she could lift it higher than others, but it was constantly there, curving her shoulders inwards from its weight. Air felt stale in her never quite full lungs, and her head felt almost impossibly like a broken bobblehead, forever tilted downwards, on the worst days. Pietro’s presence used to help her, especially on those terrible days, but his death meant Wanda was constantly alone (though she was never alone with her own thoughts, not since a year ago). Instead of helping her, he was now part of the weight making her sink down into the depths, drowning her. But ever since coming to the Avengers Compound, she hadn’t been left physically alone no matter how much she pushed them away (except, of course, for Stark – and she was grateful for it). 

Almost as constant as the heavy tiredness plaguing her was the man without a name. He’d been tasked with giving himself one, but it had already been three days since then. Wanda barely left the room she’d been given, but she generally knew what was going on. Thoughts were constantly loud, almost screaming, in the compound (though at a much quieter decibel ever since Thor had left a few weeks ago), but she could only get a semi-coherent thought if it was the only thing the person was thinking of (like the Captain only thinking of improvement when he trained). She always knew the gist of what was going on even before Clint or Natasha came in to visit her, but she never told them that. She didn’t want to seem like she was invading their thoughts when it was more along the lines of not being able to help overhearing a loud conversation. Wanda had been able to ignore most thoughts, except for the particularly loud ones, before, but she had stopped caring once the one voice in her head that wasn’t her own had fallen silent. If she didn’t ignore the others, she didn’t feel quite as alone, and on some morbid days, her mind latched onto anything it could because it _needed_ to. Most days, she could feel the dance of thoughts from Clint, who was worried about his family (which, her heart throbbed painfully, now included _her_ ), and Natasha, who was pushing past the turbulent emotions of Bruce Banner’s (or, rather, the Hulk’s) wordless departure. Some days, she marched along with the Captain’s thoughts that were much darker than she’d ever thought they could be, or she shadowed the Falcon’s mind that flipped between sardonic and playful, depending on if he was having a bad day or not. The one she didn’t follow a lot was Colonel Rhodes’, because he was very close to Stark and she couldn’t bear thoughts of Stark. He’d robbed her of everything, and, at the same time, he hadn’t – as she’d learned, he was a figurehead and not a key player. Shooting the messenger got her nowhere, and the actual masterminds were already dead.

She’d helped kill one of them, after all, ripping the beating vibranium heart from his chest cavity with icy, detached ease.

The only person she could never quite get a read on was the… man. His mind operated quicker than she could ever dream of, and he generally had at least a dozen different things coursing through his thoughts (it was difficult for her to even parse out twelve different thoughts, and she doubted she was close to the real number of what he was actually capable of). Despite the fact it should have been quite chaotic, with the various different thought spirals he sprinted down as he learned at an alarming rate, everything felt neat and clean when he was nearby, and despite the sheer amount of data he was crunching, Wanda could only classify his mind as a quiet, calming hum – it felt like threaded gold. So, every time he phased into her room, bright blue eyes trained on her as she curled deeper under the covers on the bed to avoid his gentle gaze, she felt… better. Calmer. Her thoughts could follow along the calm waves his provided. Because of that clarity he provided, she sometimes got a dreamless sleep when he was around. Normally, she’d never sleep with a guest, especially not a male guest, around, but she’d also never intentionally fell asleep with him around. It just… _happened_. She was a sailboat caught in his warm breeze.

Pinching her side to stop her contemplations, Wanda shoved her torso upwards to face the unforgiving force of gravity, the quilt and top sheet pooling about her waist. Today, she decided, she’d shower – that would be one of the tasks she was going to do (something Clint said she should do – determine some tasks to do, no matter how small or trivial they seemed, and try to do them to the best of her ability). The scent of sweat and grime in her hair was almost nauseating at this point. Her moment of motivation captured, Wanda swung her legs out of the bed, and stood up in her wobbly, weakened state from not eating for close to twenty-four hours. She could immediately feel a rush in her stomach, and black spots appeared in her vision. It wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to, though, because food was sometimes hard to get in Sokovia.

“Miss Maximoff… do you require assistance?”

Wanda involuntarily jumped, coiling snaps of scarlet escaping her fingertips without her permission. He was lucky there was nothing for it to grab onto and send his direction (though, perhaps even if there had been, it wouldn’t have mattered because… what _could_ hurt him?). The fright did damage on her though, because her knees buckled and gravity took her crashing down, stealing away the confidence she’d had and sending it through the floor. Heat pooled in Wanda’s face, reddening her cheeks and burning her eyes, and her hands curled into fists on top of the too-soft carpet Stark (or, in all likelihood, Pepper Potts) had chosen for the compound. She was supposed to be more than this, the skittish caged animal she had become, but not everyone could operate without a heart like… him (or so Stark said, but she had begun to doubt it ever since the first day he'd hovered in her room quietly, respectful of her space but also annoyingly persistent and precise in his appearances).

“I apologize for frightening you, Miss Maximoff. I assure you, it was not my intention to do so.”

Wanda almost gasped as he appeared kneeling by her side, turning her glistening eyes to his face. His thoughts were bright, so very bright, and everything he was thinking was startlingly centered around her. Without actively grabbing onto his thoughts and invading his privacy, she couldn’t figure out exactly what ten or so things he was pursuing, but the root of each thread was tightly bound to her. There was a sharp, frenzied thing emanating from him, stabbing at her heart; the feeling matched the way his brow scrunched and the corners of his mouth twitched downwards.

“… Miss Maximoff? I will go get –“

Wordlessly, and somewhat unconsciously, Wanda’s hand shot out, fingers grasping desperately at his sleeve to keep him from leaving. Something was… _off_ about him since she’d last truly paid attention to him. Her eyes roved over him hungrily, trying to find the imperfection in his seemingly impeccable self that her own misery insisted was there.

She saw it right as she was about to give up and let him retrieve Clint.

His shoulders curled under a similar weight hers did.

Though he’d traded his spandex and cape for normal civilian clothes, she’d half expected his broad shoulders to always be taut and set with the divine purpose he seemed to exude. He’d felt more real, more human after Sokovia, despite Stark and everyone else’s stance that he was just merely a machine with a human-like face, and he was finally starting to exhibit proof of it. Only, it felt wrong, so very wrong, for someone as pure of heart as him to be touched by the black stain of humanity’s darker side.

Wanda watched, blinking back the tears that had previously been building up, as the gears behind his irises rotated quickly; his eyes flashed between her face and her fingers clutching his sleeve like a lifeline. His thoughts were grinding to a halt, a different sort of clarity seeping off of him as he realized _his_ presence, not someone else’s, was desired. All sorts of twitches came over his face at that realization, traveling from his lips to his nostrils to his brow and the skin creasing his forehead, but they were all small and happened in seconds before his face settled into his normal neutral expression. Wanda wanted to laugh. She almost did. He awkwardly settled beside her, bending his seemingly too-long legs into the crisscross applesauce style. His movements made Wanda conscious of the way her thighs were starting to burn, folded beneath her in a semi-unnatural way, so she mimicked him. Yet she never let go of the sleeve of his sweater, too afraid he’d leave and get Clint.

“I am afraid I… do not posses the… _experience_ or leadership qualities you—“

“What should I call you?” Wanda interrupted him, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand to rid herself of her stupid tears that had been able to coat her eyelashes. They didn’t leave completely (because they never really did, not since that fight in Novi Grad), but they no longer threatened to fall. He blinked at her, rapidly, then looked away. His thoughts once again came to an abrupt halt before continuing down a different path than before, mouth open slightly. His lips moved slightly, trying to form words to convey the complex thoughts traversing his mind.

“I… I am…”

In the weeks following the battle with Ultron, his initial confidence had floundered as his purpose was lost. Wanda had always felt his thoughts, knew they were there like a comfy backup blanket in the storage closet, but despite the direction he seemed to command himself with, his shoulders and indecision said he was lost. The way his facial muscled spasmed, unsure of what expression to make or how to make it, said he was lost. The way he kept looking at her fingers, still clenched around his sleeve, with desperate confusion said he was lost. The way his feelings burned bright like the sun then immediately vanished into smoking embers said he was lost.

He was lost, just as she was.

Growing more conscious of the building panic within him, Wanda released his sleeve, and she could swear she saw his chest deflate in relief. In the few times she’d left her room, she’d seen how he actively avoided touching the others, and she couldn’t remember a time when someone else had touched him. Touch had to be quite foreign to him, but she could remember the way his warm hands felt on the skin of her thighs and side.

“Mr. Wilson suggested RedWing 2.0, Two for short,” he said, mouth twisting in an ugly way. His brows raised and his teeth were bared, mouth twitching at the corners, and Wanda supposed he was trying to smile. It felt like a sucker punch, and all the air escaped her lungs and didn’t dare come back.

“He was joking – as I was, just now. I don’t suppose I said it like he did, though, since you didn’t laugh,” his… _smile_ fell as he spoke, the sharp feeling coming from him again as the seconds turned into minutes of silence from Wanda.

“Perhaps I should—“

“It was not funny. It should not be said.” Wanda found her voice to prevent him from leaving again. A twitch appeared in his cheek, jumping up to his eye as his head slowly dipped to the side inquisitively. His movements were always smooth, almost creepily so, but his face, his expressions were quite lacking in a sharp, panicked way. Paired with his bright eyes, he really did seem like one of the androids the world insisted he was. But his mind was warm, always warm, and she knew he was not as he appeared to be. He was… just new. And lost, painfully lost. 

She knew what that was like.

A spark burned to life within the back corner of her mind. Maybe it was too big of a task. She probably shouldn’t try to pick up someone else’s broken pieces as she struggled with her own, especially when they didn’t know if they were broken or not (perhaps the pieces had just never been put in to begin with because no one was aware they even existed). But his presence made the lead weight feel a little lighter and like the broken spring in her neck was being fixed. There was just something like a kindred spirit winding around him that her misery wanted to keep around.

“I will keep that in mind. I have… that is to say… Victor. You asked what you could call me. Victor Sh-Stark.” Even as he spoke, quite noticeably, to Wanda, at least, his lips seemed to curl upwards in derision of the name. Ever polite, his eyes never left hers, except when they flickered away when he said the name. She saw the way his shoulders tightened and fell back to their curled position, too. Every minute detail of his person was screaming that “Victor Stark” was something being shoved onto him.

“You do not look like…,” his eyes immediately latched back onto hers, and she was struck with how quickly the gears were turning (and counter clockwise at that, completely different than before), “you enjoy that name,” Wanda finished her sentence quickly. Even more startling was when the gears behind his irises stopped completely at her words. Everything about him seemed frozen, and for the first time she’d known him, his mind was completely silent. Despite the fact she should feel worried, because she’d never seen this happen with him before (granted, she hadn’t spent much time with anyone besides Clint, and Natasha, she supposed, but he did make quite frequent visits to her room to just sit in silence with her), Wanda just leaned back onto her bed, considering him. His thoughts were slowly coming back in an unhurried, stroll-like pace, as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards. His upper lip even curled a bit, showing a sliver of his pearly white teeth.

“I am not especially fond of it, no. It does not… fit. All I have been referred to as is ‘the vision’ or ‘Thor’s vision,’ so I… _feel_ more inclined to be known as ‘Vision.’ But I have been told, and confirmed it when I searched the internet, that ‘Vision’ is not a name.”

As he spoke, Wanda’s face twisted into a slight smile. It was the most she’d heard him speak since Sokovia, and it was definitely the most she’d heard him speak that wasn’t related to being a hero. She rolled her eyes, though, slowly reaching out to pat the shoulder nearest to her. His eyes guardedly followed her hand, though there was more curiosity than before.

“In a world with a super soldier out of his time like Steve Rogers, I think there are less strange things than a man who wants to be named ‘Vision.’ Do not listen to them – they are dumb. You like being called Vision, yes?” Wanda asked, one eyebrow raised. He paused for a moment, rolling the thought in his head like a cat playing with a ball, before nodding. Breathing in deeply, Wanda clutched her knees tightly before forcing herself to stand up; she was glad she was steady enough to not need to put her hand on her bed or the bedside table for support. His eyebrows creased together again, and the sharp feeling was back from him as he rose in a flash.

 _Concern_. He was _concerned_ for her, Wanda realized as she was finally able to identify the emotion. It felt odd and hard to place because it wasn’t muddled by any other emotion. It wasn’t mixed with guilt or pain or derision – it was just unadulterated concern. Perhaps it was because he was so new, or perhaps it was because he never considered himself or his feelings in anything. Perhaps it was even both. Whatever the reason, it was clear and… comforting.

“Then we shall respect that and call you Vision.” His head cocked to the side again, quicker and more natural looking than before because of the slight jerkiness to the movement, as she spoke. There was something new bleeding from him (wonder or bewilderment?), and his hand was quick to hover behind her elbow when she stumbled walking towards the bathroom on her wobbly legs. It was time for her to start her first task of the day. When she got to the doorway, grabbing onto it for support, Wanda turned to face him again. He’d shadowed her across the room, silent but reassuring because of his belief she could walk on her own (had Clint been there, he would’ve insisted she take his arm), and his face had become neutral again.

“Thank you, Vision.”

The smile he obviously wasn’t conscious of, the one that twitched its way from the corners of his mouth to curl his lips in an almost lopsided way, returned as he dipped his head.

“It is of no consequence. Do you require anything, Miss Maximoff?” He, _Vision_ , asked, eyes flickering to the bathroom. Though he hadn’t grasped the meaning of doors yet, Wanda knew from the way he took a half step back that he knew bathrooms were private. She momentarily wondered if he’d tried following someone inside or had phased into the bathroom while someone was in it, but she shoved that thought away very quickly.

“No, this is something I have to do on my own.” Vision dipped his head again, turning around to leave. Just before he got to the wall, Wanda called out, “Vision – thank you, again.” He turned halfway back to her, his confusion not evident on his face but loud in his thoughts.

“You are welcome, Miss Maximoff,” he stated even though he didn't know why she was thanking him again, and his shoulders uncurled slightly as he phased through the wall to leave her room.

The shower, Wanda supposed, was technically her second task for the day.

**Author's Note:**

> -rises from the ashes (too soon?)- hi, school brutally murders any and all writing feels i get, so i haven't posted anything in a long ass time. this is... not what i intended to write the other day and... it's... odd, i guess... but it came naturally, without me trying to force something out, so... ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ staying with their roots because infinity war got me feeling some kinda way, wishing sv angst was still just about their big fight in cw lol.


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